When the Music Fades
by WakeUpAndSmellTheIrony
Summary: Based off of Susan Kay's novel as well as the original novel. Erik is complex and dark. It is mainly E/C as well as it should be. A tale of darkness, rape, betrayal, and redemption. Chapters are under reconstruction so don't be alarmed!
1. One: Better Left to the Dark

**Authors Note: First of all I want to thank Sue for saving my sorry grammatically incorrect tail. She is so very patient and works hard to push my chapters into something better. The chapters that you will be seeing now are revised and revamped. Thank you for your patience and your continued support. Please review, I see you reading so I know you exist. Don't even try to hide. **

**Thanks and Love,**

**Wake Up and Smell the Irony**

Chapter One: Better Left to the Dark

Paris, February 12, 1872

"_Concentrate,"_ she told herself. She knew what she had to do, it was really quite simple and at the same time so infinitely complex.

The whole ordeal had started with a week old newspaper article she had happened to come across while packing away her mother's wedding china. It wasn't long, a paragraph or two, stating the recent happenings at the Opera Garnier in Paris. But it wasn't the article itself that had caught her eye, It was the ink sketch next to it that had captured her attention. The building was exquisite, a modern marvel to grace the skyline of the already magnificent city. But something in the facade reminded her of another building from another place entirely and she knew it's architect instantly.

And so she had come to Paris, she hated what she was about to do, barging into an unpleasant memory all for the sake of someone she never wanted to see again, yet secretly prayed she would. Aimee knew that it was going to be hard locating Erik, but she had done so before and was determined to do it again.

She glanced up at the towering shadow stalking beside her like a protective gloom. He hadn't wanted to come to Paris; he was sick of the filthy cities and had sulked the whole way. Aimee didn't blame him; she too wanted nothing better than to stay forever in the countryside in solitude. But, her past was made up of many doors, and she had closed them all, save for one.

She sighed, and laced her arm through his, for reassurance, as well as an apology. He smiled down at her in response. Well, she knew he was smiling. No one else could tell through the mask he wore. But she knew because she was his mother and mothers knew these things. She breathed a sigh of relief, he had forgiven her. She patted the arm that she leaned on, and gazed up at him adoringly. The slight wrinkles that adorned her visage folded around her mouth as she did so, giving her a homely look that would have instantly endeared her to anyone.

It was dark out, and the lamp lighters had not come to this district yet. Aimee had planned it that way; things of this nature were better done in the dark. She pointed ahead to a small flat on the corner so he could see their destination; he nodded and led her on. Silence only seemed to add to the dramatic display that surrounded them. But neither could think of what to say to break it.

With every step that they took, her heart began to quicken with anticipation. What she was about to do was necessary, she had to close off any link to her past if she planned on staying sane. At least, that is what she told herself.

And now it came down to it, they stood before the door and her hand was poised above the knocker. She was panting slightly to try and contain her fear. He sighed deeply, and moved past her to gently take the knocker from her hand. She nodded gratefully as she took a step back and tried to compose herself.

The slight tapping noise of metal against wood made Aimee's heart threaten to leap out of her chest and dash away. More than slightly disgusted with herself, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply though her nose.

She had long considered herself courageous; but opening the doors to her past made her as timid as a lone child in the dark. Now the door in front of her, the physical door to her past, opened. Light streamed out, a slight dark man stood in the doorway peering out at them with blatant suspicion. When he saw who was standing on the stoop, he nearly fainted on the spot.

"Hello Darius," she whispered. "It has been quite a while." Darius had to swallow several times before he found his voice.

"You had better come in," he answered, in a hoarse whisper. A thick accent coated his voice, making his French difficult to understand. "He will want to see you." He shuffled aside to give them passage, but made no attempt to hide the glare directed at the man, as they moved past him.

"If you would be so kind as to wait in the drawing room, the master will attend you shortly," Darius said, letting formality hide his shock..

A Persian rug greeted their shoes, and richly colored chairs welcomed them to sit. Exotic lamps were placed artfully throughout the room, and books in strange languages perched on every surface imaginable. Aimee breathed in the incense smoke that wafted through the small space with sweet relish; it had been a very long time. She spotted a hookah stashed precariously in the corner, a small pile of tobacco sitting beside it. She knew it was for show, a gentle reminder of his overseas home. The master of the flat had never cared much for tobaco. She wished she could smile at the memories that surrounded her, but the business at hand ruined any chance of that.

While they waited, Aimee observed her son as he sat in the chair beside her. He was obviously ill-at-ease. He had both hands in his lap and fingers laced, giving the appearance of peace. But he was pinching the skin on his palm nervously. She was sure if she even so much as sneezed, he would jump clear out of his hide. He had always been that way, to some extent. It manifested itself more when he was caught in uncomfortable situations such as this one ('this' cannot be used as a pronoun), when Erik would be mentioned in the conversation.

He was tall, much taller than any of the Frenchmen Aimee had seen wandering the streets since their arrival; at least two full heads above Aimee.

He had been gangly as a child but had filled out into a more mature frame, although he was still much too thin. Aimee was so proud that she had coaxed his weight up five pounds before they came. Still, she had spent the whole morning cursing vehemently in every language she could think of as she took his suit back in again.

Suddenly, the master of the house burst into the drawing room. He looked ready for bed in an elegant dressing robe and richly colored slippers. Aimee blushed at his informal appearance; she should have sent a card ahead of her.

"Allah preserve us," Nadir breathed. "So it is you."

"Good evening Nadir." Aimee nodded with a tight lipped smile. "I don't believe you have met my son, Stefan."


	2. Two: Favors

Chapter Two: Favors

**Authors Note: So Sorry this is so late. There has been some crazy things happening in my life and they have seemingly calmed down enough for me to sit down and write. Sue has been so incredibly kind and patient with my writing and I cannot thank her enough for her generosity in editing my story. She is amazing and I couldn't do this without her! **

**R&R loves,**

**- Wake Up and Smell the Irony **

"Nadir, you must understand my position," Aimee sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Yes, _Houri, _and you must understand mine," he said, clearly exasperated. "The last time I took someone down there, he nearly killed me."

"But...you saved his life," she said haltingly. "He would never hurt you."

"_Houri,_that was a long time ago. He doesn't seem to hold onto the past as fervently as you or I do." he sighed, running his fingers through his fading hair. The memory of that night ran through her mind like her own personal poltergeist. She studied Nadir's exotic eyes for a moment. He looked tired, weary of the world his Allah had placed him into. She reached across and placed her hand on his, a simple gesture meant to give comfort. But she felt Stefan's eyes on her instantly, he had risen from his seat and was now lounged contentedly in a corner with a book of Persian proverbs. His eyes now peered inquisitively over the worn cover. Nadir drew away, perhaps he felt the same gaze.

"Nadir, you must help us. I would be grateful for even the smallest piece of counsel." She had taken his hand in both of hers and was gazing at him imploringly.

"You are tired, _Houri,_" he sighed. "Stay the night here, and in the morning we can talk."

"That is very kind _Daroga, _but Stefan and I have prior arrangements." She drew her lips into a irritated line as she rose and made purposeful march to the door; Stefan was instantly at her side.

"Aimee," Nadir sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Don't leave like this."

"_Daroga,_ if you won't help me, then I will find him on my own. I have lived without your help for some time, and it seems I must continue in that way." She saw his face fall, stung with the rebuke.

Aimee sighed as she tugged her gloves on, she hated the things that came out of her mouth sometimes. Stefan collected his hat from Darius and tugged it onto his head. In a huff, Aimee reached for the doorknob before Darius could. Nadir grabbed her hand and turned her to face him.

"Aimee, my _Houri,_ please understand," he took her gloved hand into both of his. "Forgive me, but I cannot, will not, go back there. I beg you to forgive me. But he will kill the both of us if I return. He recognizes no one; you would be dead before he recognized you" He drew in a slow breath. "Allah forgive me, but I cannot go back."

Aimee felt her eyes beginning to prick at the corners. Rising to the tips of her toes, she kissed him on each side of his face.

"Oh, Nadir," she sighed stepping back "You saved three lives that day, and for that I could forgive you anything." Memories swam behind her eyes. She saw a brief glimpse of the man Nadir used to be, standing strong and secure in the sun of that far away desert. The man she could have loved if things had turned out the way they were supposed to be. But Erik had brought her to that place and had taken her away. Creating things only to destroy them in the end. She cleared her throat and blinked fiercely to clear away the memory.

"God knows what you suffered since then." She whispered, "I will come another day. We will catch up properly and you can wear something other than your bedclothes." She smiled sadly and he chuckled half-heartedly. Stefan waited silently on the street.

"I will see you soon." Nadir voice rough. Aimee pressed her hand over her heart and tilted her head in a bow, and Nadir followed suit as Darius closed the door.

Aimee and Stefan stood alone in the shadows of the street. The lamp lighters had not yet come to this district, Aimee had planned it that way. Business of this nature was better left in the dark, no one to see his face, or her tears.


	3. Three: Never Any Privacy in the City

Chapter Three: Never Any Privacy in the City

**Authors Note: Thanks To Sue. She is completely amazing and I couldn't do any of this without her! Goodness she has her work cut out for her. ^^**

**Love and Reviews would be much appreciated.**

**-Wake Up and Smell the Irony. **

"Good morning, Maman " Stefan said peeking over the edge of the morning's paper and tilted a steaming cup of sweet tea towards her greeting. The sugary sweet smell wafted over to her and she crinkled her nose in distaste. She couldn't understand how he could drink his tea like that. It was just another trait he had taken from his father. When Stefan was a child she would find him under the kitchen table, the sugar bowl tucked safely in his lap.

She had had a rough night, bad memories playing constantly behind her closed lids to the point where she had given up chasing sleep . She wasn't at all surprised to see Stefan already awake. He rarely ever slept. When he was a child, only her presence could get him to close his eyes. Sometimes, she would sit up with him until the early morning, running her fingers up and down his back until he succumbed to slumber. She studied his well-groomed appearance for a moment, unsure of how he functioned. She smiled fondly.

The balcony doors stood open, and a breeze wafted in through the spacious hotel room. Paris didn't have the cleanest air, granted, but it was better than the stuffy atmosphere the indoors provided. The sun had just begun to rise over the city, creeping into the hotel room and basking them in a sickly yellow light. The sun rising over the tops of the buildings did indeed give a stunning picture. She had seen many cities, rising over foreign hills under exotic suns. She had seen Erik designing such cities, lavish castles, grand cities, eccentric homes. She had been impressed by them once upon a time, but now more than ever nothing pleased her more than to see the grandeur that no man could design.

"Good morning," she yawned, drifting over to him to plant a kiss on the top of his head while tugging off the mask he was wearing; she hated seeing him in it. It seemed like a barrier that blocked her from reading him completely. He sighed in deference, and she moved her lips to his forehead and tucked the mask into her robe pocket. It was a daily occurrence, a routine as mundane as that of families more normal than theirs.

Stefan's face was to say the least, quite remarkable. He was to modern society- an atrocity to Mother Nature and to God.

His skin had a pale yellow undertone and was sunken in dramatically around the cheeks and temples. Veins danced like fine spider webs across his face, pulsing gently just under the skin. He always had deep-set circles under his eyes at all times from the lack of sleep. His clothes had never fit just right, he only ate enough to keep his body functioning. He was tall and had lean muscle spaced flatteringly about his frame, but his was painfully thin. Another trait given from his father. The only attribute of Aimee's Stefan really possessed lay in his eyes, which were a soft green. However, even those were not truly hers, they glowed faintly in the dark, like cat's eyes.

Aimee loved every inch of his face. It reminded her of his father. Sometimes, when the light was right she could swear that Erik himself had stepped out of the past to stand before her.

"Can I fix you something to eat?" she asked, beginning another part of the routine.

"No," he said, completing it. Her eyes itched and her head ached dully, she felt as if she had too much to drink the night before. Her eyes flitted to the untouched wine rack, and she almost wished she had. Her mouth was unpleasantly dry, to remedy this she went to fix a cup of coffee. She smiled when she spotted a cup already sitting on a tray accompanied by two slices of dry toast. He looked after her and cared for her as much as she did for him.

She had arranged for the finest hotel in Paris, one that appreciated the tenant's need for privacy. Money could say just about anything these days and it seemed to keep her secrets better than friends did.

They were on the top floor where no one was likely to disturb them. It was plush and overdecorated, as was the current style. Looking around at the overstuffed couches and heavy velvet curtains only made Aimee ache for the simplicity she knew awaited her at home. Stefan had brought a large amount of his books from home, another silent protest to the injustice of being dragged to the city. Currently, they sat in an unceremonious pile on the desk. But the statement they represented still stood.

Aimee sat down at the table next to him and set the tray before her. She tipped her cup of coffee towards him in thanks and he nodded. "Reading anything interesting?" she asked, searching for something safe to talk about.

Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door. Aimee jumped a little and Stefan's gaze hardened into a glare, but he didn't lift his eyes from the paper.

"You see?" he muttered, venom coating his voice "Never any privacy in the city." Aimee sighed and nodded as she pulled her robe closer around her, and moved for the door.

"Who is it?" she barked.

"Message for a M. Perrolt" came a muffled voice through the door.

"From whom?" she asked, one hand poised above the knob, the other clutching her robe shut at the neck.

"Doesn't say, Madame." Frustrated, Aimee poked her head through the door, and accepted the letter and shoved a few sous into the boys hand in return.

"Will there be a reply Madame?" Aimee resisted the urge to slam the door in his face, she was indecent at the moment and she didn't want to give him any fuel to feed the fire of gossip that was raging among the hotel staff. Aimee had refused hotel services of any kind and had expressly forbidden hotel staff from ever entering the room. Very odd behavior for an older lady, especially if she was traveling alone, which was the pretense Aimee was keeping up. She shook her head and smiled at the boy, best to seem pleasant at least. He nodded and bowed with an unpracticed air. When she closed the door she heard him break into a run, the plush carpet not completely muffling his pounding feet.

She pressed her back against the door and looked at the letter in her hand. She had expected it to be from Nadir, but it was in an unfamiliar feminine hand. Nervously, she broke the seal.

'Madame Perrolt,

Through a mutual friend I was advised to contact you about someone very dear to both our hearts. I am uneasy about allowing you into such a strange circle; however, our friend was quite insistent about the necessity of such an act. Please, if it is convenient, meet me at the Cafe de la Rouge at midday.

Your friend,

Christine Daae'

Aimee sighed again and folded the letter in quiet resignation, tucking it gently in her robe pocket.

"Stefan, dear, it appears that I'll be going out for a while."


	4. Four: Dramatics

Chapter Four: Dramatics

**Author's Note: Sue is ammmaaaazzzinnng! Give her love for all her hard work. All this wouldn't be possible without her patience and flair for writing! This chapter is quite long, so enjoy. Please R&R because I need it!**

**Much love and thanks, **

**-Wake Up and Smell the Irony.**

"Mademoiselle Daae?" Aimee asked, peering into the face of a very young, very pretty woman. Christine looked no more than twenty-one with pale cheeks and pouty lips, the sublime vision of an angel in any respect. Aimee watched how the sunlight played on the girl's face and felt a slight pang of regret. She might have looked something like that.

"Yes, are you Madame Perrolt?" she asked in a sweet singer's voice. In answer Aimee sat down and arranged her skirts.

"Mademoiselle, if you insist on summoning me from my hotel, please do so with a little more warning."she kept her tone purposely rough, she wanted Christine to know that she was to be in charge of their exchange. The girl's face reddened and she lowered her eyes to her lap in modest shame.

Aimee sighed, her corset was strung too tight and made breathing difficult. Stefan had bought her the elegant black gown for her birthday last month, and she wore it on every occasion she could to make him happy. The scooped neckline stopped just above her bosom so to give hint to the imagination as to what lay underneath. The tight corset made her look like she was thirty once more. Jade pins held her auburn hair in place.

She in stark contrast to the girl across from her, who was dressed in a demure blue dress with a modest neckline that was tight around her slim neck and accented with a black velvet choker. Her blond hair fell over her shoulders in large stylish curls and her large, innocent blue eyes gazed at Aimee with blatant curiosity. They were obvious opposites; it seemed the only thing they shared was their choice of friends.

Neither spoke for quite some time, the waiter came and went delivering tea and finger foods. They gazed at each other, trying to break the code that would lead to some sort of understanding. The food sat untouched, instead becoming a beacon for the surrounding insect life.

"Mademoiselle, you inquired of me, as I recall, so if you would be so kind as to tell me what exactly you want..." Aimee said, peering over the cusp of her tea.

"Oh, yes. Forgive me Madame," she said, her blush fading to a slight pink. It gave no sign of leaving the girl's cherub face.

"_How quaint,"_ Aimee thought, amused by the angelic nature of the girl. Beauty seemed to surround her as naturally as the petals on a rose.

"I assume you know the man who encouraged me to contact you," Christine said, eyes still quite wide, consumed with the mystery of the woman in front of her. Aimee watched Christine's eyes flit about her person studying her. Persian gold on her wrists, oriental jade in her hair, and the Indian diamond on her finger. She knew she must look very odd, like something out of a novel.

"If you mean Nadir, then yes," Aimee nodded, setting the tea down. Finally, this business was going to start.

"Nadir-- is that his name? Oh, well, excuse me. Yes, Monsieur Nadir came to me yesterday and was quite vehement that I find you as soon as possible. Do you know why?" The girls' voice flitted from note to note, never quite settling anywhere in particular. The girl seemed to be forever lost in a dreamland, it was charming in its own respect.

"Mademoiselle Daae, I do believe you are rambling." Aimee said, her lips terse, running a carefully painted nail to trace the cup's intricate design.

"Oh, forgive me." She blushed again, her eyes dipping once more to her lap. Aimee sighed, this was going nowhere.

"Yes, I can only assume he asked you because guilt finally got to him."

"Excuse me, Madame, guilt?" Mademoiselle Daae asked, setting her cup down and leaning forward slightly. On top of everything else the girl seemed to enjoy gossip as well.

"Yes, I needed help finding Erik, and...Mademoiselle Daae, whatever is the matter?" M. Daae had gone quite pale and her eyes darted about looking for something, in the shadows. Aimee kept a tight hold on the vicious giggle in her throat as it threatened to escape.

_  
"What a silly girl."_ Aimee watched the transformation in Christine with fascination.

"Please, never speak _his_ name aloud to me again," she whispered, her tone drenched in fear. "He can hear his name spoken from miles away he says, and, if it's all the same to you, Madame, I would rather he not know where I am right now."

"Indeed," Aimee said quite seriously, her mouth quirking to one side, masking her amusement in irritation. "Mademoiselle Daae, would you mind explaining your relationship to '_him'_?"

"Madame, I could ask you the same thing." she said in breathless earnest, leaning forward even further so she could murmur the words. Obviously, the girl thought she was involved in a mysterious play of espionage and danger. Her eyes practically screamed with the excitement. Aimee wondered vaguely how she managed to stay in her seat.

"Mademoiselle, I did not come here to give a history lesson. This is neither the time nor the place. I have come quite far to find Er-..._him_. And if you could be so kind as to tell me where he is, I would be much in your debt." She was quite annoyed now and was in no mood to play word games with a child. Christine nodded and began to study the teacup with a very serious intent.

"Madame," she began, still not looking up, her face returning to her color and her eyebrows crunched together in serious thought. "I am not sure that I can trust you with the secret _he_ has entrusted me with. Until you convince me otherwise, I will not be inclined to tell you." the dreamlike tone had vanished from Christine's voice and she sat back in a triumphant huff, her arms crossed dramatically over her breasts. Aimee sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, she was afraid this was going to happen. She had unwillingly become an actor in this girl's theater. She needed to regain control of the situation without loosing her only link with Erik. Swallowing her anger she tried her hardest to keep her voice in a modest tone.

"Mademoiselle, please. My need to find him is urgent, I wish him no ill will. Only to talk with him, and then I will be on my way." Christine still looked unconvinced, one carefully plucked eyebrow was raised in suspicion. Aimee was slightly taken aback at the sudden transformation of the girl in front of her. She wondered if the sweet persona that she had been witness to until moments ago was all a front. Aimee abandoned modesty as her voice took on a tone of sudden desperation.

"You don't even need to take me to him directly. If there is a common place for us to meet, secluded, were we could talk. I would be forever in your debt."

"Madame," Christine said carefully. "Your word is not enough to reassure me of your intentions no matter how benign you claim them to be." the cruel execution of her words combined with the raised eyebrow provoked Aimee's annoyance to anger. Her fingers twitched, the only outward betrayal of her feelings. She folded them together tightly on top of the table, and drew in a calming breath before she spoke.

"Mademoiselle, what can I do to convince you?"

"Where did you get this?" Christine asked, abruptly changing the subject, pointing to Aimee's bracelet, her tone suddenly conversational.

"What?"

"If you will forgive my curiosity, It just looks so foreign, so exotic, it must have cost a fortune."

"No, not really. Mademoiselle, please, can we return to the task at hand?"

Christine opened her mouth to speak but the waiter returned, whisking away the untouched food and refilling the teapot at the center of the table. The silence continued even after the waiter departed.

"It was a gift." Aimee said softly. "From someone in Persia." She felt defeated, she hadn't wanted to loose control, and she was certain the moment that she laid eyes on Christine that she wouldn't. And yet, here she was, a victim to the whims of a child. She was suddenly very tired and wanted this whole business done with.

"Monsieur Nadir?" Christine asked, her head tilting to one side.

"A Shah." Aimee sighed, and Christine stifled a laugh. When she realized that Aimee wasn't joking, she masked what did escape in a dainty cough.

"You have your answer Mademoiselle. Now please, tell me what I can do to convince you?" Christine looked out onto the street and studied the passerby's for a moment. Aimee thought she looked very much like a cat, scrutinizing the mouse caught in between it's paws.

"How do you know Erik? He never mentioned you to me."

"Erik is a man of his own and guards his past like a dragon does his gold." Aimee tilted her head to one side "I have no doubt that he has told you next to nothing of himself. So it is little wonder he has made mention of me."

"Then you tell me." Christine turned back to face Aimee curiosity painted blatantly on her face.

"I would have to refuse Mademoiselle. If there is something else I could do to prove my genuine intent. Perhaps if I sent for Nadir, if his letter wasn't enough then maybe-"

"No Madame, I am afraid my mind is made up on this matter."

"Erik is quite capable of taking care of himself. If I gave you a letter to deliver to him then that would be all I would ask of you on this matter. He could choose whether to see me or not." Christine flinched viably at the mention his name.

"Madame." Christine said "Please consider what I have asked."

"He can't hear you." Aimee said sharply "No doubt he made that up to make himself seem more impressive."

"I highly doubt-" Christine began

"Were you impressed?" Aimee asked, eyebrows raised. Christine didn't answer and turned her gaze once more back onto the street.

"Madame." Christine said softly "He has given to me his trust. I doubt that I could keep it if I told him about Nadir's letter, then meeting with you, and then hand him your note. It would seem that I have been running around behind his back."

"And suddenly showing up with me in tow would be different?"

"Just talk with me, tell me how you know him. If I knew more about him, then maybe I could understand him a little more." She spoke softly, almost to herself. Her eyes still staring off into the distance.

"So, I am the means to an end in all this." Aimee said sharply, bringing Christine out of her thoughts. "How am I to know that if I tell you what you want that you won't just disappear into the night?"

"You will just have to trust me won't you?" Christine said a hint of smugness haunting her voice.

"I am afraid that just isn't good enough." Aimee said coldly, and stood.

"Nadir won't help you, and I am your last link to him. If you want to see him then you will have to go through me." Aimee froze, she was right. Aimee hadn't really thought about what she would do if Christine wouldn't help. She wasn't in charge, she never had been. She was going to have to rely on the whims of a child if she wanted to see Erik again. She sat back down, defeated.

"What do you want to know?" Aimee whispered.

"Everything, but lets start at the beginning."

"Obviously."

The Christine's eyes lit up. Her persona of the cat disappeared and she leaned forward, child once more. Hands clasped together set on the table greedily.

"Don't act so eager, this isn't some happy-ever-after fairy tale." Aimee snapped, and the blush returned in full force. She was taken aback by the transformation once more.

Aimee leaned back and focused on rearranging her skirts for a few moments to regain her composure. "I don't know how much you know, or how much Erik wants me to tell you."

"I won't tell."

"What happened to not running around behind his back?" Aimee asked, eyebrow raised.

"This is different." Christine reasoned.

"If that's what you want to believe." Aimee countered. Christine watched as Aimee gathered her thoughts for a moment. The sun was warming the city and the tables around them were beginning to gather new occupants for an early lunch.

"My first word was his name." Aimee said softly, drawing in thick breath. "We were never apart for long, we would even spend some nights together. Doesn't that sound odd? At first he would sit in my chair by the window and guard my dreams. But soon after his ninth birthday he slept with me in my tiny bed. We must have been quite a sight, and I would be mortified even now to think of what my mother would have said if she had ever seen the two of us there. It was a purely platonic relationship, but I would be very hard pressed to convince anyone otherwise.

"His mother, Madeline, never cared much for him. In truth, I think she was afraid of him. She never let him outside, where people could see him. But that was more for her good than for his. She tried to maintain her status in society. What society existed in that country town is beyond me.

Anyways, He wanted to go with her to mass so badly, even then he was a great lover of music. He was in love with the idea of the organ and the choir. He would play piano for me and pretend it was the organ. But he would get frustrated and throw the sheets of music underneath the piano. So he wouldn't have to look at them. But no matter how much he begged she never let him go with her. I am sure you understand why.

So sometimes, at night, I would take him to the church and he would play for me on the real organ. When his mother found out, she put bars on his window and added an extra lock to the outside of his door. I helped him pull them out, so we could run around at night, laughing at our cleverness. We were wild beasts back then, untamable as beasts" Aimee smiled at the memories, her eyes drifting off into the past.

"It was after his ninth birthday, that he started having nightmares. It was on that birthday that he first saw..." Aimee couldn't finish the sentence.

"His face." Mademoiselle Daae mouthed horror stuck. Aimee could only nod.

"After that, he couldn't sleep without the nightmares. His mother would leave him screaming in the dark all night. Some nights, it got so bad that he would come to my room and sleep with me there. He told me that, if he kept his mask on...that the monster in the glass couldn't get him. It was when he told me that, that I decided to hate his mother. I don't know if you have ever felt the horror of a six-year- old's hatred, but it is a power not to be reckoned with. Of course as an adult, she only saw it as childish pranks. I put frogs in her coat pocket, oatmeal in her left shoe, things like that. My mother punished me severely for what I did, but I didn't care.

'That night I made the rule that,when the two of us were alone, he was not allowed to wear the mask. Instead, I would protect him from the monster."Aimee paused for a moment to sip her tea, but it was long cold. Mademoiselle Daae's eyes were wet; Aimee had the feeling she cried a lot.

"And so it was," she continued. "We went on like this until he was fourteen. When he asked me to make a very serious decision."


	5. Five: Changes

Chapter Five: Changes

**Author's Note: **

**First Off: SORRY SORRY SORRY. Things have been so incredibly insane right now. So things are on the downside of calming down and here I am. Begging for your forgiveness. **

**Thanks to Sue my Beta! She is amazing and patient with my posts. I promise to get more regular and consistent. Thanks to ****Wanderingchild96 for catching a discrepancy. Erik was indeed nine years old when he ran away, not fourteen. She gets Kudos. Also, kudo's to ****Debkay for my first review. Thanks! R&R my dears, my brain needs love.**

**- Wake up and smell the irony. **

"Run away with me," he whispered to her in the dark.

"What?" Aimee yawned sleepily. "Run away? Where?"

It was around two in the morning; Erik had just arrived in her room via the window. The night chill stubbornly clung to his clothes, she shivered. She rubbed her feet against his as he tried to find space in the small bed. She concluded that Erik must be playing a game with her. They played many games The last and most popular was that he was an ancient king and that she was the queen of the fairies. Together, they had fought many wars as allies and their kingdoms prospered.

"Does it matter?" he hissed. Aimee curled up closer to him. Erik rubbed her back, trying to get them both warm. Aimee tucked her head under his chin, and to her annoyance, felt the icy touch of the leather mask.

Nothing irritated Aimee more than Erik wearing the mask when they were alone. She untied it expertly and threw it on the floor beside the bed. She felt a smile form on his lips as she moved her hand back down into the warmth under her chin.

"Why does it bother you that much?" he asked, trying to obtain some of her pillow. Aimee could barely fit into her bed as it was, but with him in it as well, sleeping was impossible.

"It matters because I like to know where I am going," Aimee grumbled, falling into the game.

"You'll go?" he asked dubiously, pulling back a little to study her expression.

"You haven't convinced me yet," she yawned, pressing him back into the bed. It was starting to get warm again and she was tired, she fought hard to understand his words. "Can't we do this in the morning Erik?" he laid back down next to her and she tried to even her breathing, hoping sleep would follow. She felt her body growing heavy as the dream world began to take her once more.

"She wants to marry him," he said softly. "She can't do that with me here." Aimee jerked awake. She had a horrid feeling in the pit of her stomach that this wasn't a game after all.

Madeline had a lover, everyone knew that. He was a good looking doctor from the city and a 'good match' for Madeline, according to the young ladies that sat behind Aimee at Mass. Aimee He wanted to send Erik away to an insane asylum. He never spoke to Erik directly about it, he was content to whisper his desires into Madeline's ear mingled with words of undying love. They both knew he wanted the ugly inconvenience of a child out of the way so he could have his beautiful wife all to himself. Aimee bristled with the thought of Erik sent away to that place. She had an uncle once, she didn't really remember him...Uncle Henri. She only knew what the family said behind closed doors when Aimee was supposed to be asleep. Cells crammed with inmates, like fish. Her grandmother whispered in a fainting voice once, how awful the screaming was- animalistic, raw, and heart wrenching. She said you could find more peace in an indoor zoo than in that place. Despite her family's best efforts to conceal Uncle Henri from Aimee, her Aunt once told her, after she had had one to many glasses of sherry that she had been allowed in the room alone with Henri once, he hadn't looked at her. He sat there, only a tattered dressing gown wrapped around his ravaged frame, lice crawling in and out of his unkempt locks. He hadn't said a word the whole time she was there, just moving back and forth and mumbling, his eyes filled with tears. The mental picture of the faceless Uncle suffering horrors unmentioned in the families accounts was suddenly replaced by a picture of Erik, crouching down in the dark, crying, and moving back and forth like a caged animal. A shiver moved viciously up Aimee's spine with the memory.

"Live with me here," she whispered, grasping for a safer alternative. "Mama will let you." she wasn't entirely sure about that, but she thought it was worth trying.

"And what happens when your mother gets married? You honestly think she will want to live her life without a husband?" He asked sagely.

Aimee's father, Stefan, had died of typhoid when she was three. She remembered little about him, She knew her mother, Marie, was lonely; she would hear her cry at nights. The pitiful sound sometimes even crept into Aimee's dreams.

"What do you think she'll do with you when he doesn't like you?" Aimee stiffened with the certainty of Erik's tone.

"She wouldn't send me away." she whispered, fear possessing her voice. She shifted away from him and now was teetering on the edge of the bed.

"Of course she would. That's what boarding schools are for," he said harshly.

"She wouldn't send me away. Mama loves me."

"And when she gets clouded with love for someone else?" His voice was hard and cruel. She had never heard it quite like this before. What had happened at his house to make him act this way?

"She wouldn't." But her voice wavered, her eyes were filled with tears, and she was blinking furiously to make them go away. The subtle fear Erik had planted in her now gripped her chest fiercely.

"She would and will. Better do the leaving first." he tilted her head up to look at him. His eyes, glowing brightly in the dark, softened slightly when he saw her tears.

"I won't ever leave you, Aimee." he whispered, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Don't you leave me either." Her breath hitched as she drew it in. She couldn't find words; she nodded her head against his hands. He grinned triumphantly and threw back the covers. She sat up with a start as the chill air stole her breath.

"We need to get you packed," he said briskly.

"Now?" she cried, finding her voice, as she leapt out of bed, untangling herself from the possessive sheets. The fear morphed into a dragon, ripping into her heart strings. He wasn't listening to her, he was pulling her drawers out and pulling things out he thought she might need.

"Erik!" she shrieked, and yanked him away from her drawers. "You don't go through a lady's things!" she whispered fiercely jerking her things from his arms.

"You're not a lady," he laughed, then too late that she was serious.

"Am so!" she scoffed, turning away and folding her arms dramatically. He grabbed her arm and spun her back to face him.

"Fine. Now get your things together,_ dear__ lady,_" he mocked, sitting down on her unmade bed and starting to pull his shoes back on.

She huffed and started to go through her things and pulled out her two favorite play dresses, four pairs of socks, warm gloves, and a hat. She drifted towards her wardrobe, all the while ignoring Erik's eyes on her back. Gently tugging on the handles she was hit by the overpowering smell of mothballs. Her nose wrinkled as she riffled through the various Sunday dresses. She found what she was looking for, her father's overcoat. She had taken it from her mother's room a few years ago and wore it only when she and Erik went out at night.

"Turn around." she whispered to him. He rolled his eyes and grudgingly obeyed. She pulled her nightgown over her head. She hated dressing in the winter, goosebumps pinched her flesh painfully, but the blush of being naked around Erik soon banished them. She hurriedly redressed in the warmest clothing she could find.

"Why can't we leave later?" she asked, desperate to find a reason to stay.

"I don't want do talk about it," he muttered, his slender fingers covering his eyes.

"Okay," she announced in a whisper, she signified she was decent. He turned back around and reached under her bed,where he knew she kept her traveling bags. After a moment of rummaging, he found her father's knapsack. He packed the things she had picked and held it out to her.

"Ready?" he asked. Her mouth dropped, how did this all happen? She stared at the bag held out before her, she felt as if she was teetering on the edge of some great precipice. One missed step and she would plummet to the bottom.

"Wait a moment," she said, her courage quailing. He shrugged and sat back down on her bed. She wanted to ask for time, time to say goodbye properly to everyone she loved. However, by the tone in Erik's voice she knew that he couldn't wait.

Slipping out of her door she tiptoed down to her mother's room and crept inside. Her mother lay there asleep in the bed. Her hair, once a violent red, was now slowly losing the battle to a possessive grey gathered at the temples. Age had ravaged her countenance prematurely. She could still be called 'beautiful' quite truthfully, but hardship had taken its heavy toll. Being a single mother was difficult in any respect.

Aimee moved silently to the edge of her bed and watched her mother sleep for a moment. Tears filled her eyes as she gazed on in silence. She would never see her again.

"But it's for the best," Aimee whispered, the sadness sticking to her words making her voice disappear almost entirely at points. "You can find someone new, and you won't have to send me to boarding school. I'll be…gone." The last word escaped her mouth without a voice, spit stringing her lips together. Her face was drained of blood, her eyes wide with the horror of what she was about to do. She was going to leave her mother and Marie would never really know what happened.

She was trying to be quiet, so she gasped back a sob and bit the back of her hand so she wouldn't betray her presence. She pressed her lips to her mother's cheek. She would never kiss her again. She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the ugly thought that slipped through her mind anyways. She would never kiss her mother again.

She drew in a deep breath as she memorized her scent. She had a particular smell when she slept. Aimee remembered that when she was a child, after her father's death, she would cry herself to sleep in her mother's arms, that smell creeping into Aimee's nightdress as well. So even when her mother would tuck her back into her own bed, Aimee could pretend that she still lay there next to her.

Tears falling freely down her checks, Aimee crept over to the dresser and opened her mother's jewelry box. Inside there was a large pouch of spending money. Aimee's grandmother never failed to slip some into her daughter's purse on her weekly visits. Marie never spent it; she never had the need to. Aimee's father had left them quite comfortable. Aimee took it now, thankful of her grandmother's generosity. She folded her mother's handkerchief into the pouch as well; the small square fabric was embroidered with daisies and laced with Marie's favorite perfume. A small memory for her to keep with her forever. Marie mumbled something in her sleep and rolled over. Aimee froze, she could never explain her reasons for leaving to her mother when she was awake. Having to face her mother asleep was wretched enough for Aimee but the fear of facing her mother's wakeful and expressive eyes was almost too much to bear. Her mother's breathing evened out and she slipped into a deeper sleep. Aimee was surprised to find herself regretting that Marie didn't wake up, didn't force her to stay, didn't make everything right. Aimee realized that it was up to her to set things to right from now on. She and Erik would be alone, with only each other. She would have to make decisions, be there for him as he would be for her. She nodded and slipped the pouch into the pocket of her father's coat. Aimee kept her eyes fixed on the sleeping form of her mother as it disappeared behind the door, forever. The latch clicked with the finality of her action. She walked steadfast down the hallway, but didn't even make it halfway until she fell to her knees and dissolved into muffled sobs.

She couldn't let Erik see her this way; she had to be strong for him. Let him know that she would never leave him. Her breath came in short whimpers as she tried to calm herself down.

"Be calm," she whispered frantically, her words broken by grief. "Be still, be calm, be calm..." She knelt there in the darkness, desperately trying to even out her breathing and to stop the tears from flowing. She was scared, the fear of the unknown was enough to make her joints lock in place. She closed her eyes and thought of Erik, he would protect her. He promised, and he had never broken any of the promises that he made. She would be strong for him and keep her promise as well. She would never leave him. She repeated these thoughts to herself over and over until they rang clear with truth in her mind.

She waited a good long moment, still, in the darkness, to regain her composure before reentering her room.

"Better?" Erik asked, holding the knapsack out again. Aimee nodded, unsure of her voice, resolutely accepted the sack, and slung it over her shoulder. As an afterthought she grabbed her christening crucifix and followed Erik out the window. As she stared out at her house which was bathed in moonlight. she thought of her mother sleeping alone in a bed built for two. She hoped that Erik was right, and that she would fall in love soon.

**Follow up: Thanks to Sue again. I am a fisherman in training. ^^**


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